


shape the poet and the beat

by evewithanapple



Series: Girldevil [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/pseuds/evewithanapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crushing on a straight girl is one thing- she's been down that road. Crushing on her best friend who she knows isn't straight, but being too goddamn chickenshit to say anything is something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shape the poet and the beat

**Author's Note:**

> HERE IS IT, THE GIRL!MATT/GIRL!FOGGY EPIC (after a fashion) I'VE BEEN THREATENING. Can take place in the same universe as "lay your body down," but they don't need to be read together.
> 
> Also, there are illustrations, kinda:  
> http://ameliasscanwells.tumblr.com/post/117381040890/youre-just-like-a-girl-a-really-really  
> http://ameliasscanwells.tumblr.com/post/117037791290/was-anything-about-us-real

Foggy’s on the phone with her mother for the third time in as many days (yes, Mom, she packed enough sweaters; no, the cafeteria isn’t starving her; yes, she’s got her class schedule memorized) when a ridiculously hot girl walks through her door.

In Foggy’s defense, she notices things about her other than the hot factor. Sure, that’s the first thing that catches her eye (and it is kind of noticeable) but then she takes in the fact that she’s wearing sunglasses, wonders about that for half a second, and then solves the mystery when she notices that she’s also carrying one of those walking sticks blind people use. Then her brain snaps back to the hotness, because seriously: _so hot_. Leather-jacket-wearing, dark-haired, nice boobs (look, they’re _right there_ , okay? It’s not like she can’t notice) and the parts of her face that aren’t obscured by sunglasses are all fine lines and high cheekbones.

“Hi,” she says. She taps the cane across the floor until she reaches the free bed, then sinks down on it. “This is room 342, right?”

“I- uh- yeah,” Foggy says, shaking herself out of her boobs-and-cheekbones induced trance. “I’m Foggy Nelson. You’re-”

“Your roommate, I think.” The newcomer extends a hand. “Maddie Murdock.”

“Oh, no _way_!” Foggy bounces off the bed and grabs Maddie’s hand, shaking enthusiastically. “Murdock from Hell’s Kitchen, Murdock? Fighting Jack’s kid?”

A faint blush is spreading up Maddie’s neck. “That’s me.”

“This is _so cool_ ,” Foggy gushes, finally dropping Maddie’s hand when her arm starts getting sore. “I didn’t think I’d meet anyone from home all the way out here. Do you box, like your dad did? Er-” Her train of thought finally catches up to her mouth. “I guess you kind of can’t, huh? That must suck. Sorry”

“It’s okay,” Maddie says. She drags the cane back and forth across the floor. “I exercise a bit. Keep in shape. But I’m not a boxer like him.” A self-deprecating grin creeps across her face. “I’m in Intro to Law. I’m gonna end up being a pencil-pusher.”

“No fucking way,” Foggy says, shaking her head. “We’re in the same class! Professor Miller, right?”

“Right.” Maddie tilts her head to the side slightly. “What else are you in? I’ve got Spanish, Contract Law, and Civil Procedure. You?”

“Torts, Legal Methods, and Punjabi.” Foggy doesn’t need to be able to see Maddie’s eyes to recognize the bemusement at that last one. “Hey, don’t knock it. It’s the tenth most spoken language in the world. It’ll come in handy when I’m a world-class, jetsetting lawyer.”

“Well it won’t do you much good in Hell’s Kitchen,” Maddie says, but she’s smiling. “You’re not going back after you graduate?”

“Probably,” Foggy says with a sheepish sort of grin. “I’ve got family there, after all. But it’s fun to imagine.” She extends an arm. “Fistbump?”

Maddie sets the cane down and meets Foggy’s fist with unerring accuracy. “Right on.”

Foggy grins. “This is gonna be _fantastic_.”

* * *

 

Six weeks into term, and the crack team of Murdock and Nelson have already conquered most of campus. Or figured out how to find everything, which is really half the battle. Maddie has a better sense of direction than Foggy (which seems kind of weird, but maybe that’s how the universe makes up for shooting you in the eyes with chemicals) and an even better sense of how to find all the best bars. There’s a watering hole right by one of the side campuses- kind of a dive, sticky surfaces in all the wrong places, but the beer is great and the company is better. And Foggy kicks ass at their pool table.

So she’s sitting there one day, having already won five rounds and retired to the bar for a victory drink, when a girl from her Torts class sidles up to her. Foggy doesn’t know Marci all that well yet, but she’s already picked up that the girl has a bright future ahead of her as some kind of man-eating shark. She wipes the floor with her opponents whenever they have an in-class debate without even breaking a sweat, and has legs that go on for days. Foggy’s not sure whether she finds her attractive or terrifying. Possibly both.

“Hey there,” Marci says, flashing an unnervingly bright grin. “You here alone?”

“With a friend.” Foggy nods across the room to where Maddie is hanging out by the jukebox. There’s another girl next to her, spider-walking her fingers up and down Maddie’s arm while Maddie throws her head back and laughs. Maddie has a really long neck. How has Foggy not noticed that yet? It’s so long and . . . neck-y. Like a swan. Or a giraffe.

Okay, maybe she’s a bit tipsier than she thought. Note to self: whiskey and Foggy do not go together.

“ _So_ ,” Marci’s saying into her ear, with the air of someone about to launch into a proposition. “You’re in Legal Methods, right? And your roommate’s in Contract Law. I’ve got both of those coming up next semester, and I know you’re not in Ethics or Legal Research yet. So I was thinking . . .”

Foggy’s still looking across the room, watching Maddie with her new friend. The girl she doesn’t know has a hand curled around the back of Maddie’s neck, and it looks- weird. Proprietary. Who even _does_ that to someone they barely know? That’s just creepy.

“Ahem.”

Foggy blinks. Marci’s giving her an expectant look. “Oh. Right. Um- what were you saying?”

Marci heaves an exaggerated sigh. “I was saying, we could swap notes when next semester rolls around. In the meantime, I need a debate partner for the end-of-class seminar, and I know you did really well on the Dispute Resolution Training assignment. So how’s it sound? You want to partner up?”

“Uh-huh,” Foggy says. Maddie and her new friend are gone. “Sounds great. Fantastic.”

Marci slides off the barstool, shrugging her jacket around her shoulders. “I’ll e-mail you, then. I’d invite you back to my place, but-” She snaps her fingers under Foggy’s nose. Foggy blinks hazily. “You’re a total space cadet right now, so it should probably wait. See you tomorrow.” Foggy blinks again, and Marci’s gone, leaving a cloud of confusion and Chanel in her wake.

When Foggy leaves out of the bar, several- hours? Minutes? Is there a measurement between hours and minutes? - later, the sky outside has turned blackish-pink. Normally she stumbles back to their dorm with Maddie, but Maddie’s nowhere to be seen, and it’s fine. She can walk on her own. She is a strong, independent Foggy who can walk on two legs without help. She only falls over twice. The feeling of bumping her head against brick actually clears her mind a bit, so by the time she actually mounts the stairs to room, she’s only a little bit out of it. Clear-headed enough to look at the doorknob and realize that there’s a sock there, and hear-oh.

Well, then.

“Great,” she says out loud, sinking to the hallway floor. She’s not really all that pissed- good on Maddie, if she can get some this easily- but it does present the problem of where exactly she’s gonna go until the room opens up again. Just sit out here? Things might get kind of awkward when Maddie comes back out. On the other hand, it’s not like there’s anyplace else on her list of Places to Crash, and isn’t this what roommates are for? Making your one-night stands embarrassing after the fact?

So. She’s just gonna sit here. For however long it takes.

“Awesome,” she says out loud, then giggles at the sound of her own voice. She’s becoming increasingly aware of the noises coming from inside- high-pitched squeals in a voice she doesn’t recognize (that’ll be Weird Fingers Girl- god, what had Maddie seen in her?) and other, lower moans that must be coming from Maddie. She sounds kind of nice, actually. Well okay, maybe _nice_ is the wrong word, but she at least sounds like she’s having fun instead of being murdered. They’re the kind of sounds Foggy would like to hear from a sexual partner, if she had one. Although maybe a bit less loud, because she’s pretty sure anyone walking by can hear what’s going on.

Maddie keeps making noises from low in her throat, somewhere between a grunt and a groan, and her voice occasionally shoots up- probably when Weird Fingers Girl does something good. There are probably sexual pluses to being Weird Fingers Girl, if you’re having sex with other girls. Or possibly with guys too? It’s getting kind of difficult to consider the vagaries of Weird Fingers Girl’s sex life, because Maddie is getting louder. Like, a lot louder, guttural grunts and little pants like she’s trying to gulp air but can’t catch enough of a second wind for it. Foggy can just about picture the look on her face, back arched, neck curved, maybe turning pink all over instead of just that neck flush she gets sometimes, her fingers all balled up in the sheets, shades off so that whoever’s with her can really see what’s going on, how close she is, how good it feels-

Foggy almost hadn’t realized where her train of thought was taking her until she notices her hand creeping towards the waistband of her jeans, and she hastily slaps her palm down on the floor instead. No. Nuh-uh. She is not getting off in the hallway listening to her roommate have sex. There are lines, and this is definitely crossing one of them. Maddie is going to open the door in a few minutes, and Foggy is going to be sitting out here looking perfectly innocent, because she did _not_ touch herself imagining Maddie getting off. Nope.

(If she gets off on it later, in the privacy of her own bed, rolling her hips desperately against her hand and imagining its Maddie there instead- well, that’s nobody’s business but hers’.)

* * *

 

It’s colder outside than March in New York has any right to be, but Foggy doesn’t feel it, because Maddie’s pressed up against her, shaking with laughter, and Foggy’s on top of the goddamn world. They’re stumbling across the quad, and Foggy’s stolen Maddie’s cane, whacking everything they walk by and singing out “look at _me_ everybody, I’m _blind Maddie Murdock_!” while Maddie runs at her heels and grabs fruitlessly at her, mostly because she’s laughing too hard to get a grip.

“Most people-” she gets out between gasps of laughter, “most people would probably just say ‘Maddie Murdock.” She hooks one of her feet around Foggy’s ankles, and Foggy goes down with a shriek as Maddie steals the cane back and thumps her with it. They’ve reached the stairs that lead up to the student housing building, and Foggy doesn’t really feel like making the effort of getting back up- not that she could anyway, with the sky spinning the way it is- so she just crawls on her hands and knees up the stairs and flops over at the top. Maddie thumps down next to her, the cane sticking out at an odd angle.

Foggy’s on her back, chin tilted upwards, staring at the night sky. “D’you know- d’you know how pretty it is? It’s so pretty, Maddie.”

“I know,” Maddie says, gulping lungfuls of air. “I know. I remember. I can feel it.”

“Feel it how?” Foggy asks, but before she can register Maddie’s odd silence, she barges on forward. “Y’know, I bet- I bet if everybody was just, like, faceblind, we could have world peace. I bet we could.”

“How d’you figure?”

“Like-” Foggy waves a hand, “like nobody could start fights by saying ‘hey I don’t like your face,’ because they can’t see it, right? And nobody’d get all pissy because somebody else doesn’t look like them, because they just _wouldn’t fucking know_! Fuck, it could work.”

“You’re drunk,” Maddie says, amused.

“ _You’re_ drunk,” Foggy retorts. “I’m a genius. I just solved world peace.”

“I don’t think so,” Maddie says, sprawling across the steps next to Foggy. “I’ve still got people whose faces I don’t like. You can just tell.”

Foggy half-lifts her head. “Tell how?”

“Weeeeell . . .” Maddie pokes the end of her tongue out in concentration, then gets momentarily distracted waggling it around before she continues. “You know how some people, they look just like they sound? It’s like that. Like, I _know_ your friend from Torts class dyes her hair blonde-”

“You do not,” Foggy says automatically, although it’s true and she _knows_ it’s true because she’s seen the bottle herself. “So what do I look like, then? Or sound like, or . . . look-sound like?”

Maddie stretches her legs out, hooking one of her ankles around Foggy’s. Foggy does her best to ignore that. “I dunno. Friendly.”

“Friendly’s not a look,” Foggy says, although she’s pretty sure she is. At the very least, it’s a much nicer descriptions than the various ones that she’s heard applied to herself over the years, most of which involved variations on the phrase “troll doll.”

“It is,” Maddie insists. “It’s kind of- I can tell you smile a lot. I know your hair is about down to your shoulders. I think you have a button nose, but I’m not sure. I could tell, if-” She cuts herself off.

“If what?” Foggy asks, curious. Okay, mostly she wants to hear Maddie talk about her more. And distract herself from the slight press of their ankles together. Maddie even has nice _ankles_. Life is deeply unfair.

“IfItouchedyourface,” Maddie blurts out. Foggy’s not sure if she’s slurring because she’s drunk or because she’s embarrassed. Either way, she blinks at Maddie. “Huh?”

“If I touched your face,” Maddie says, carefully spacing her words out. “I know, I know, it’s really weird, but I can like- get a feel for your features. Sort of like sense memory? You know what, nevermind, its stupid-”

Foggy reaches out, cutting Maddie off mid-ramble, and grabs her hand. “With gloves or without?”

Maddie’s neck is turning red above her scarf. “Without, but you don’t need to-”

Foggy fumbles with Maddie’s glove- a slightly trickier operation than usual, given that her fingers feel like sausages all of a sudden- and slaps her bare hand against her face. Maddie freezes for a second, fingers clenching- it kind of hurts, actually, although it would probably hurt a lot more if Foggy’s face wasn’t so cold- and then her hand relaxes, and she starts to skim her fingers over Foggy’s cheeks and chin. She touches one finger lightly to the tip of Foggy’s nose, and Foggy would be tempted to giggle and say “boop” to this, but it’s not really on her radar at the moment, because Maddie _is touching her face_ holy shit, just running her fingers all over her and oh by the way their ankles are _still touching_ , and this is either the best or worst thing that has ever happened in Foggy Nelson’s entire life. She’d be having flashbacks to the sexiling incident if not for the fact that she’s contemplated what it would feel like to have Maddie’s hands on her more times than she’d like to admit, and they all start to run together after awhile. She never pictured this specific scenario, but Maddie’s fingers feel nice. Really nice, actually. Her thumb is under Foggy’s earlobe, sort of gently rubbing the soft skin there, like she’s trying to figure out where Foggy’s ear fades into her neck. She’s wearing earrings, and the bob dangling at the end of the earring is bumping against Maddie’s hand every time she moves, while her fingers are brushing the edge of Foggy’s hairline. Foggy’s starting to think that she doesn’t care that much where Maddie’s touching her, as long as skin-to-skin contact is involved. Especially because Maddie’s palm is full-on cradling Foggy’s cheek now, like straight-up caressing it, and it’s all she can do to keep from leaning into the touch and purring like a cat. She never, ever wants this to end, ever.

It does end, though, and she tries not to make a disappointed sound as Maddie pulls away and puts her glove back on. “What’s the verdict?” she asks, keeping her tone light. “Give it to me straight, doc.”

She can’t really read Maddie’s expression- not that Maddie is especially scrutable (is that a word?) at the best of times, but she seems blanker than usual at the moment. “Like I said,” she says. “Friendly.” She pauses. “Nice. Really nice.”

“Oh.” Foggy tries to keep disappointment out of her voice. Nice is better than nothing. It’s certainly better than troll doll. “I hope you know you just took my face-touching virginity, Murdock. You better call me in the morning.”

Maddie throws her head back and laughs. “Nope. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s me.”

“Sure is,” Foggy says with a companionable giggle, leaning her head on Maddie’s shoulder and feeling chuckles reverberate through her body. At this distance- which is no distance at all- she can catch the smell of Maddie’s shampoo, a faint whiff of vanilla and mint. If she turns her head just a little, she thinks, she could kiss Maddie’s shoulder. Maddie would never know. If she gets caught, she could say her cheek slipped, and how would Maddie be able to tell? Do face-touching senses extend to knowing whether or not someone’s moved accidentally-on-purpose? Could she play it off if she gets caught?

She hates herself for it as soon as the thought crosses her mind, but it’s there, and it’s not going away. _You’ve fucked yourself over for real this time_ , she thinks- it was one thing to be in denial when she hadn’t let Maddie grope her face, but the cat is well and truly out of the mental bag now, and she’s pretty sure she won’t be able to stuff it back in. She’s equally sure that she can _not_ say this out loud, not now, not ever. Maddie’s still giggling a bit, sounds trailing off into the air, like she has no idea that her roommate- her best friend- the girl currently leaning on her shoulder- has what could accurately be called designs on her virtue. The night air is suddenly painfully cold on her face, and she suddenly wished she’d drunk more, a lot more. Enough to give her courage, or at least to not care.

“We should go home,” she says abruptly, and pulls herself to her feet, dragging Maddie with her. Maddie comes up easily, hand warm and pliable in Foggy’s, and they weave away together. Maddie’s arm looped through hers’ feels like fire, heat and ice intertwined, and Foggy doesn’t know which one burns worse.

* * *

 

(Less than a year later, Maddie says _let’s start our own firm_ , and Foggy says _sure, why not_ because saying “no” to Maddie Murdock has been beyond her capabilities for a very long time. At least since that night in the quad. Maybe since the day she first walked into their dorm room. Point is, if Maddie wants to go bankrupt defending the downtrodden, then Foggy’s going down with her, and the rest of the firm- hell, the rest of the world- can go fuck itself.

It’s the same when Karen comes along- Maddie wants to help her, and Foggy would almost feel like a pushover for how easily she caves, but the truth is she wants to help too. She doesn’t have Maddie’s unshakeable certainty that Karen’s innocent, but the whole case smells just off enough that she wants to get to the bottom of it, whatever _it_ turns out to be. Besides, she likes Karen. Not like she likes Maddie, but honestly, it’s kind of a relief to have someone around who doesn’t make her feel like she’s on fire in all the best and worst possible ways.) 

* * *

 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Foggy says, taking another sip.

“You and Maddie were in college together,” Karen says. Her face is slightly pink, and Foggy can’t tell if it’s from the drinks or not. “Were you two ever- you know?”

Foggy freezes, her beer bottle halfway to her mouth. “Uh,” she says, and the sound comes out in a squeak. “Uh- no, never.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows she’s given herself away, her already-shaky sense of deception entirely collapsed under the weight of the evening. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see Karen’s look of pity.

“Oh,” is all Karen says. She reaches across the table, and Foggy feels a warm hand clasped over hers’. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Foggy manages, draining the last of the bottle. “Kinda does.” When she opens her eyes, Karen’s face isn’t exactly as bad as she feared- pity, yes, but with more of a sense of camaraderie than of looking down on poor, sad, pining Foggy.

“Been there,” she says, and clinks their bottles together. Foggy forces a laugh. “Yep. Done that.”

Karen doesn’t push it any further, and Foggy’s grateful for that, because she doesn’t want to go into the whole mess any more than she already has. She doesn’t know what, exactly, Karen thinks is going on with the two of them, but she’d prefer that her idea of the situation stays vague, just so she doesn’t realize the extent of how pathetic it all is. Crushing on a straight girl is one thing- everyone’s been down that road. _Maddie’s_ probably been down that road, assuming the girl in question didn’t immediately switch teams as soon as she laid eyes on her. Crushing on her best friend who she knows isn't straight but being too goddamn chickenshit to say anything is something else entirely.

By the time they make their way back to Karen’s apartment, there are pale streaks of light across the sky outside. Karen fumbles in her purse for her keys, and they jangle as she draws them out. Foggy notices her hands are trembling slightly.

“Hey,” she says. Karen looks up. “If you want, I could stay over. If it would help.”

Karen’s face, frozen at first, relaxes into a smile. “I’d like that,” she says. There’s a brief, pregnant pause where Foggy can’t tell exactly what’s hanging in the air, and then Karen leans forward and presses a soft kiss to her mouth. Foggy freezes, eyes squeezed shut, heartbeat accelerating in her ears. Karen feels nice- the ends of her hair are brushing Foggy’s cheek, and for a second, she allows herself the same thoughts that always cross her mind. _Maybe. Maybe this time it’ll work. Maybe this time, I can actually move on._

She dismisses them, and gently pulls away, smiling apologetically at Karen. Karen smiles back, all sympathy. “Maddie, huh?”

Foggy lets out a long sigh. “Yeah.”

Karen looks away, fumbling the key into the lock. Foggy takes a deep breath. “I could still stay, though. Like-” She gestures. “Sleep on the couch?”

Karen pats her shoulder. “Of course.” Foggy’s not sure which one of them is really doing the other one a favour. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

* * *

 

“Call Claire,” Maddie gasps, and then she faints. At least, Foggy thinks she faints, because she’s not talking anymore, and she’s gone chalk-white. Foggy fumbles in her pocket until she finds a cell phone, and pulls “C.T.” out of the contacts, hoping that Maddie hasn’t stuck this woman’s number under some bizarre nickname. Maddie only has about four people plugged into her phone- Foggy, Karen, some guy from the church, and this C.T. person- so Foggy can’t think of anyone else it could be.

The phone rings twice before she picks up. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Foggy looks back down at Maddie, and wishes she hadn’t. The puddle of blood is getting bigger. “Um, my friend just collapsed in her apartment and she’s bleeding everywhere and she said to call you, so . . . I’m calling you. I guess. Whoever you are.”

There’s a pause, then “I’ll be right there.”

When the woman- Claire- arrives fifteen minutes later, Foggy’s already dragged Maddie over to the couch and pulled her mask and boots off. She hasn’t touched her pants or shirt, partially because she’s afraid of making it worse (are you not supposed to move hurt people? Or is that just if they fall down the stairs?) and partially because the whole black-suit-mask combo is freaking her out. She doesn’t have time to start freaking out actively, though, which is a good thing, because she’s pretty sure she won’t be able to stop once she starts.

Claire brushes right past her and over to the couch, dropping a doctor’s bag on the floor next to her and bending over Maddie to check her injuries. Foggy stares at her, pieces starting to click together in her brain. “Claire- holy shit, _burner phone_. You’re the nurse.”

“Yep,” Claire says briefly. She’s already pulling a needle and thread out of her bag. Foggy’s stomach lurches.

“Well, that’s great,” she says. “That’s wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic, is what that is.” She sinks down onto the ottoman, her head in her hands. Seeing Claire now, she gets it, which almost makes things worse- the woman is _gorgeous_ , like all the women Maddie’s ever gotten involved with. Whether they’re “involved” in the kiss-kiss-bang-bang sense, Foggy doesn’t know, but apparently Maddie trusts this total stranger enough to let her in on the fact that she’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen when she wasn’t willing to trust her best friend with the same information. She gets up and paces around the room, still rubbing her forehead with both hands trying to distract herself from both the situation and the sight of a needle being pulled through Maddie’s skin.

“I hate sewing,” she says aloud. Claire barely glances up. “You know that? Fucking hate it. My mom tried to teach me, and I stabbed myself, like, twenty times.” Still no response from Claire, which is about as much as Foggy’s rambling deserves, but dammit, she has to do _something_ , and she can’t make herself look at Maddie. Can’t force herself to acknowledge the situation any more than she already has.

When Claire finishes up, she rises to her feet with a sigh, stripping off her blood-soaked gloves. “Make sure she gets plenty of rest,” she says to Foggy, who stares at her open-mouthed. “She shouldn’t move too much, or she’ll rip her stitches. And get her to eat something when she wakes up.”

Foggy finally finds her voice. “Who- how the hell-”

“She should probably be the one answering those questions,” Claire says briefly. She slings her back over her shoulder. “I need to go to work. If there’s an emergency, ignore what she says and call an ambulance. She really should be in a hospital.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Foggy says out loud as the door closes behind her. She looks back down at Maddie, who’s out cold- probably a combination of the blood loss and whatever Claire injected her with. Still, her eyelids are fluttering, and Foggy can see the rise and fall of her chest.

“You better not fucking die,” she says, “because I have a lot of questions.”

* * *

 

_The more I say, the faster your heart beats._

When Foggy hears that, her heart just about _stops_. Maddie can- fuck, she can tell when someone’s lying. She can tell when _Foggy_ lies to her. How many things has she said over the years that Maddie’s seen right through? How many times has she seen her friend head out for a date, feign sadness when it didn’t work out, pretend like it didn’t feel like a carving knife to the chest? How much did she know? Could she even ask that? Could she even trust Maddie to give her an honest answer?

“I wouldn’t have kept-” she starts, then cuts herself off as acid rises in her throat, thinking _you hypocrite_. Her first thought when she hears Maddie can detect lies is that her cover’s been blown, and here she is giving a lecture on honesty? What right does she even have to expect it? Maybe that’s why. Maybe Maddie knows what Foggy’s been keeping tucked away for the past ten years, and that’s why she didn’t trust her. Maybe she’s known all along that Foggy’s unreliable, can’t be trusted, and everything else has just been an act.

“I wouldn’t have kept this from you,” she finishes in a strangled voice. “Not _this_.”

Maddie bites her lip and looks down, and Foggy can’t take it, she just can’t. She can’t stand in this room any longer, waiting for Maddie to drop that bombshell- or to explain why she hid this, if she has any explanation at all. She spins on her heel and storms towards the door. Fuck Maddie; fuck her powers, fuck her injuries, fuck her secret identity. She can call her nurse friend if she needs help. Foggy’s not going to stay here, nosing at her like some kind of lovelorn puppy (and that’s what she is, isn’t she? That’s what she’s been all along) who can’t live without Maddie’s approval. She doesn’t want it. Not now.

“Foggy-” Maddie says, but she’s already gone.

* * *

 

She’s not sure how Karen finds her, but by the time she does, Foggy’s already nursing a good buzz. It doesn’t feel good, per se- her stomach is churning queasily, and her ears are ringing- but it’s better than what came before, the twin sensations of betrayal and humiliation ripping her chest in two. At least with the alcohol numbing her system, she can pretend like this is just another day, and she’s just dulling the good old-fashioned pain of rejection. She’s done that before. She can handle that.

Karen slides into the chair across from her. “Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey,” Foggy says. There are about ten messages waiting on her cell phone; she expects at least some of them are from Maddie, but a few might be from Karen instead. “I guess you talked to Maddie.” She takes another drink. “She tell you everything?”

“She said you argued,” Karen says carefully. She lowers her voice slightly. “Was it about- you two- ?”

Foggy snorts into her beer. When isn’t it? That’s what it’s always been, when you get down to the bone. But she can’t say as much, because the fact that Karen’s even asking means she doesn’t know, and if she doesn’t know then Foggy’s not going to tell her. She’s not the keeper of Maddie’s secrets, but she’s also not the kind of asshole who goes around announcing “hey, my best friend is a costumed vigilante who’s been lying to everyone for ten straight years.” Maybe longer? Who knows. Besides, if she confirms or denies what Karen’s asking, then she’ll probably go back to Maddie about it, and then Foggy will know once and for all that her secret’s out. “No.”

“Oh,” Karen says. She watches as Foggy swills the beer, reaching out to pull the bottle away. “I think that’s enough.”

“More than,” Foggy agrees, though she’s sure Karen doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to. She lets her take the bottle anyway. She misses it once it falls from her fingers; she has nothing to occupy her hands with anymore.

“So,” Karen says, after setting the bottle on a nearby empty table, “you want to tell me what you _were_ arguing about?”

Foggy fixes her eyes on the table. It’s covered with stains. When did it get covered with stains? Hasn’t she been in this bar before? She should have noticed the stains. “Nope.”

Karen sighs. “And I’m probably not going to be able to convince you to go talk it out, huh?”

Foggy shakes her head.

“Alright then.” Karen stands up. “I’m taking you home, okay? You look awful. You need some sleep.”

Foggy shakes her head, ignoring the way the room- and her stomach- spins queasily. “”’m fine.”

“No you’re not.” Karen reaches across the table and takes one of Foggy’s hands. “You’re a mess. Let’s get you home, okay? You can get some rest, and it’ll look better in the morning-”

“I’m not going home!” Foggy snaps, loudly enough that several people turn around to stare at her. “God! I don’t need anyone deciding what’s good for me. I’m a fucking adult, okay? If I want to stay here, then I’m going to stay here, and if you don’t like it-”

She cuts herself off midsentence, suddenly registering the look on Karen’s face. She looks like she’s been slapped, pale with little red spots in the middle of her cheeks. And her eyes are- Foggy’s seen that look on Karen’s face, that sad baby deer expression, but she’s never been responsible for putting it there before. It’s not a good feeling.

“I want to help you,” Karen says carefully. Foggy gets the sense that she’s taking her time choosing which words to use. “I don’t think this is- you shouldn’t be staying here. You don’t have to yell at me,” and at the last bit, she lets a hint of reprehension creep into her voice. Way, way less than Foggy probably deserves- but that’s Karen for you.

Foggy groans, pushing her hands through her hair and grinding the heels of her palms against her forehead. “I’m sorry. I- god, _fuck_. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.” She slumps over. “I don’t want to go home, okay? Just- can you just go?”

Karen pauses for a moment, then lets out a long sigh, and Foggy knows she’s won. For certain values of “winning,” which don’t actually feel all that triumphant, but there you go. “Okay,” she says. She picks up her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. “But I want you to call me if you need me, okay? You shouldn’t be walking home alone like this.”

“I’m from Hell’s Kitchen,” Foggy says into the table. “I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t look up, but she can sense that Karen’s pursing her lips, possibly debating whether or not to argue the point. In the end, she just sighs again and quickly squeezes Foggy’s shoulder. “Call me anyway,” she says, and then there’s the click of high heels against the floor, and she’s gone.

Foggy’s still staring down at the table, looking at the stains spread across the wood. They look a bit like miniature galaxies, or possibly constellations. She can’t remember the right word for it, but she knows what she’s thinking of. Possibly black holes? Giant space magnets, sucking in everything that has the misfortune to drift too close? She can empathise with that.

She groans, letting her head fall forward until it’s resting on the table. “Shit,” she says out loud. The stains don’t answer. That’s probably for the best.

* * *

 

She and Maddie have argued before- it’s kind of inevitable, when you live in the same room with someone for four straight years- but never this violently, and they’ve never gone without speaking to each other for this long. Usually they flare hot and cool down in minutes. But it’s been almost a week, and the ache of missing Maddie is starting to overtake the lingering burn of anger at what she did. She’s not sure what Maddie’s up to- hasn’t asked Karen, although she’s offered repeatedly to put them back in touch. Hopefully she’s at least healed up by this point.

Only one way to find out.

She doesn’t call Karen, because she knows it’ll just get her hopes up that the fight is ending, and she has no idea how this meeting is actually going to go. Instead, she shrugs her coat on and stumps across Hell’s Kitchen, heading for the gym where she knows Maddie likes to work out in her free time. She’d asked Maddie once, back in college, how she managed to pull off something like boxing when she couldn’t see the person punching at her. Maddie had said something vague about “alternative methods,” and Foggy hadn’t asked any more questions, because what does she know about boxing? Now, though, she looks back and wants to laugh at how naïve she was. Sure, the girl who _can’t see_ can win a _boxing match_. Right. Makes total sense. Good catch, Foggy.

When she reaches the gym, she pauses in the door for a second to watch. Maddie’s doing battle with the punching bag, darting forward and back as it swings towards her, ducking and kicking so quickly that Foggy almost can’t tell what she’s doing at any given moment. She’s dressed in a black tank top and sweatpants, and Foggy feels the familiar twinge in her heart, watching her. She stops for a second, blowing damp strands of hair out of her face, and then she’s off again. To Foggy, it looks less like a fight and more like a dance, Maddie constantly bouncing on the balls of her feet, spinning, knees loose and elastic. The bag doesn’t even have time to swing back before Maddie’s fists are flying again; it’s less of a fight and more of an ass-kicking, like she’s taking all her frustrations out on a bag of sand because it’s the only thing that won’t break under her fists. Sometimes Foggy doesn’t understand how Maddie can function like this, because she just keeps hurling herself at brick walls and getting up after she’s broken all her bones, smashed her face in, cracked her skull open. She’s always been like this, a dog at a bone, but somehow Foggy never realized that this would end in Maddie running around Hell’s Kitchen in a mask, trying to get herself killed. Maybe she should have connected the dots sooner.

Usually when she comes into a room, she’ll call out to let Maddie know she’s there, but now she stays silent. Maddie’s got those spidey-senses working for her; she’ll notice when she notices. Sure enough, as her punches finally slow, Maddie slowly turns in Foggy’s direction, head tilting to the side. “Foggy?”

“I haven’t watched you practice in a while,” Foggy says quietly. “I guess I missed it.”

Maddie drops her hands, letting them dangle at her sides. “I didn’t know. I- you could’ve dropped by here. Whenever you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. There’s a bench against the wall, and she lowers herself down to sit on it. “I guess I didn’t want to.”

She lets that hang in their air between them, sharp and painful. Maddie’s still standing there silently, like she’s waiting for Foggy to take the next step- or else she just plain can’t think of what to say. Either way, Foggy waits. She needs to hear Maddie speak for herself.

At long last, Maddie moves, stripping off her boxing gloves and letting them fall to the floor. “I couldn’t tell you,” she says, still avoiding Foggy’s gaze- for all the good it does. “You have to see why.”

“I don’t” Foggy says, still quiet. “Come on, Maddie, you didn’t trust me?”

Maddie winces. “It’s not about trust.” She lowers herself gingerly to the ground, sitting cross-legged next to the punching bag. “It’s- it’s not your burden to bear. It’s mine. I chose it.”

“I chose _you_ ,” Foggy points out, and feels that twinge in her heart again. “What, did you think I’d make a run for it? ‘Sorry, I could deal with the unwashed dishes and the laundry all over the floor and the getting locked out because you brought someone home, but the vigilantism is just too much?’”

Maddie’s mouth twitches slightly. “It wouldn’t be unreasonable of you.”

“The fuck it wouldn’t,” Foggy says. “I followed you to Hell’s Kitchen to open a law firm and go after the most powerful man in the city. It’s not that much of a leap.” She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip as she tries to find the next words. “It’s not- I don’t like the vigilantism. It’s dangerous, and it’s also way, way illegal. But that’s not why I was so pissed off.”

Maddie inclines her head. “It was because I lied.”

“Because you lied and nearly got yourself killed,” Foggy corrects her. “Jesus, Maddie, do you have any idea how bad you scared me? You were bleeding all over the place. I thought you’d die before Claire got there.”

“That was the idea behind not saying anything,” Maddie murmurs. “You wouldn’t have to worry if you didn’t know what was going on.”

“And you would have bled out in your apartment,” Foggy retorts. “Good plan.”

A shrug. “Better than any of the others I came up with.” She uncurls herself from the floor and stands, looking down at herself. She brings a hand up to touch her stomach, at the thin strip of skin between her waistband and her tank top. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Foggy follows the path Maddie’s hand made and sees red beginning to brim over the edge of the shirt. “Oh, you’ve got to be _kidding_ me. Is that new?”

“Um,” Maddie says. “Define ‘new.’”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Foggy says, ignoring the way Maddie winces. “Okay, we’re getting out of here. You need to be in bed. God, Maddie, how many places are you bleeding right now?”

“Just the one, I think,” she says, but she lets Foggy grab her arm and drag her out of the gym anyway.

* * *

 

Back at Maddie’s apartment, she brushes Foggy’s hands aside and pulls the tank top off herself. Underneath is a web of scars and bruises, old and new, some scabby and some an angry red or purple. The one that’s bleeding isn’t that bad, really- just a small cut above her hip. Foggy keeps up a steady rant as she digs through the first aid kit at Maddie’s direction, slapping a bandage over the place where her skin parts to show a well of blood underneath. She’s seen enough of Maddie’s blood to last her several lifetimes, and it’s only been a week. It’s times like these she genuinely wishes Maddie could see, just so that Foggy could drag her to a mirror and shout _look what you’re doing to yourself_! Then again, even if she did that, what good would it do? Maddie would nod, say “okay,” and put that damn mask right back on. Nothing seems to get through her head.

Foggy says as much while she’s putting the bandage on, and Maddie sits quietly and takes it, chin pointed downward. When Foggy pauses for a breath, she says, “I didn’t get this one on purpose. I didn’t go out looking for a fight. I heard this woman being mugged a few blocks over, and I-” She cuts herself off, drawing a deep breath. “I couldn’t just sit here.”

“No,” Foggy says, “you could run out on a suicide mission instead.” She finishes taping the bandage down and steps back. “You do know that, right? That this is going to end with you dead in an alley?” She has to know that. She was top of their class in law school; she’s too smart _not_ to know that. Then again, smart doesn’t always equal basic common sense. Maybe she should have majored in that instead.

She’s shaking her head, just the slightest movement. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t _matter_?” With a very great effort, Foggy restrains herself from grabbing Maddie by the shoulders and shaking her. “I’m sorry, what exactly are you trying to say here? That you don’t care if you live or die? Because if this is just an extended suicide, I’m pretty sure there are easier ways than finding criminals to punch you in the face!”

“No.” Maddie’s still shaking her head. “I mean- it doesn’t matter, what happens to me. I’m not that important. Hell’s Kitchen is important. Ben, Elena- they’re important. In the grand scheme of things, what’s the big deal if I go down fighting?”

“You can’t be serious.” Now Foggy does grab her shoulders, but only to hold on to them. “Of course it’s a big fucking deal! There’s me, there’s Karen- how do you think we’d feel if you were gone? How do you think people like Ben and Elena would feel, knowing you took yourself out for them? You think they’d ask that of you?”

Maddie closes her eyes, and Foggy can see moisture clinging to her eyelashes. “Just because they wouldn’t ask doesn’t mean I don’t need to-”

“They wouldn’t ask,” Foggy cuts in, “because _you shouldn’t_. You’re the only person in the world who thinks that you dying would be a good thing, except maybe Fisk. And if Fisk is the only person agreeing with you, it’s time to re-think your strategy!”

A tremulous smile ghosts across Maddie’s mouth. “This- these powers, these senses, whatever they are. I got them for a reason. What good are they if I don’t use them? What good am I?”

“God,” Foggy says, because it’s all she can think of. “ _God_ ,” again, and she pulls Maddie against her roughly. “This is- you’re _you_ , okay? You’re Maddie, and you’re already good enough. You don’t need to prove it. You don’t need to be any worthier than you already are.” There are tears gathering in her own eyes, because she knew Maddie had a martyr complex- always knew it, it was always _there_ \- but she’d had no idea it ran this deep. She wants to track down whoever planted this seed in Maddie’s brain and beat them to death with a cane. She wants to go back and pull Maddie out of whatever situation taught her that she’s somehow not enough, bring her forward and make her understand that she doesn’t need to be a hero or a saint to be worthy of whatever it is she’s striving for. God, if this was the problem, maybe Foggy should have fessed up years ago; at least then Maddie would have known someone loved her without all the heroics.

Maddie stays limp for several moments after Foggy pulls her close, then her arms slowly come up and she rests her chin on Foggy’s shoulder. “I’m not-” she says, voice cracking. “I can’t just let people get hurt, Foggy. I can’t do that.”

“No one’s asking you to,” Foggy says, squeezing her tighter. “No one ever asked that, okay? I just want you to be _safe_.” She pulls back a bit, bumping her forehead against Maddie’s. “That’s it. If I ask you that, can you do it for me? Can that matter more than being a hero?”

Maddie’s mouth twitches like she’s about to say something, probably _it’s not about being a hero_ or _you shouldn’t worry about me_ or some other dismissive bullshit like she’s been saying since this conversation started. Foggy thinks she might scream if she hears it, and she just needs Maddie to stop for a second, long enough for her to think, and Maddie’s just- _everything_ , the only thing in the world right now, and that’s the only reason Foggy does what she does next, which is cup her face in both hands and kiss her.

The next few thoughts that cross her mind do so at light speed, so fast she can barely catch at them. First it’s _I love you so much_ , then _oh god, what am I doing_ , and then _oh god, what is_ she _doing_? Because almost as soon as she brings her face to Maddie’s, one of Maddie’s hands comes up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck, and the other one is sliding across her shoulders and Maddie is- unmistakably- kissing her back.

She pulls away. “Oh my God,” she says.

Maddie’s lips twitch like she misses having Foggy there already, but there are other things: her eyes growing wide, her face growing pink. “You-” she starts, then stops with a little choking noise. “You- I-“

“Oh my God,” Foggy says again.

Maddie looks- dazed is probably the best word, but that doesn’t quite cover it. Bewildered, maybe. Shell-shocked. “Your heart,” she says, and puts a hand to Foggy’s chest, just over where her heart is thrumming against her ribcage. “Your heartbeat. I never . . .”

Things are beginning to click into place in Foggy’s brain, like the tumblers of a lock moving together. “You can hear heartbeats,” she says.

Maddie nods, still looking overwhelmed “Yeah,” she says.

“You can tell when someone’s lying,” Foggy says, “or excited or turned on, or- anything- and you didn’t _know_? For _ten_ _years_? You just never _noticed_?”

“I mean, I knew your heartrate was above average,” Maddie says, licking her lips, “and that you were attracted to me when we first met, but- well, your heartbeat _always_ sounded like that, and I thought it was just . . . you. It just never occurred to me-”

“Oh my God,” Foggy says for the third time. At some point after this conversation is over, she really has to drag herself to church. “This is just- wow. You have super senses that can tell you whenever someone’s lying, and yet you somehow went ten years without ever realizing that I was in l-” She bites down on her tongue. “-how I felt.”

“In my defense,” Maddie says, “I always thought that you would _tell_ me about something like that. You almost never lie, and you tell me everything. I didn’t think you’d hold back something this significant.”

“Well, I guess we can call ourselves even,” Foggy says. “Although not really, because my secret was never going to get anyone killed.” She pauses, letting silence spread through the room before adding, “also, you kissed me back.”

Maddie nods.

“And you did this because . . .”

Maddie smiles faintly. “Res ipsa loquitur.”

Foggy thinks she might actually fall over. This is it. This is the moment she finds out what swooning feels like, because she’s about to do it right here in Maddie’s living room. “You- you never said anything either! How long- no, nevermind.” She grabs Maddie by the shoulders again and drags her forward, kissing her hard. “You have so much to explain, but that can wait for later, because I have been waiting _ten years_ for this.”

Maddie must feel the same, because her fingers are already digging hard into Foggy’s shoulders, leaving little dents where her nails cut through Foggy’s shirt and leave pinpricks of pain. It doesn’t matter at all, because Maddie is moving under Foggy, hips shifting, muscles twitching against her hands. Maddie seems made of muscle, every inch a lean sinew, honed and perfected through years of practice. Foggy wants to run her hands over those muscles, feel them move, let Maddie know she can use herself for things besides throwing herself onto the pyre. She pushes herself against Maddie, almost rubbing against her, desperate to make sure that there isn’t a single part of them that isn’t touching. Maddie makes a noise into her mouth, half-gasp, half-yelp.

Foggy pulls back. “What-?” Then her eyes drop, and she sees that Maddie’s favouring her right side, grimacing slightly. “Oh. Right.” She lets go of Maddie's shoulders and loops her arms loosely around her waist instead, holding her up. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea right now?”

“ _No_ ,” Maddie says vehemently. “I just need- we should be lying down somewhere.” She pauses. “Bed?”

“Bed,” Foggy agrees, and Maddie grabs her wrist, pulling her down the hall and into her bedroom. Once they’re there, Maddie falls back onto the bed in a graceful arc, and Foggy climbs on top of her, a leg on either side of Maddie’s waist, careful not to put any weight onto Maddie’s multiple bruises. She braces herself on her elbows and leans down to kiss Maddie again, and Maddie rocks up against her, hips restless and animate.

“God,” she gasps into Foggy’s mouth “god, you don’t know how good you smell.”

“Oh, fuck,” Foggy whimpers, because she doesn’t have any kind of sense memory for this, but she can guess what Maddie means- the same underlying scent of sweat coming from Maddie’s body, plus the musk of arousal (because she’s already wet, god) and maybe something under that, something that’s just her just like Maddie has a smell all her own- sweat and shampoo and deodorant, a perfume that only belongs to her. Is this what Maddie can smell all the time, she wonders- a million different individual flavours of person, all clashing in her head? But she doesn’t have time to think about that, because Maddie’s reaching up and fumbling for the buttons on Foggy’s shirt, pulling it open (several buttons pop off and go skittering across the floor in the process) and palming her breasts through her bra. Foggy’s arms threaten to buckle, and Maddie cranes her neck upwards to latch on and suck kisses into Foggy’s skin, running her tongue along the line of skin where the edge of her bra ends, wetting the lace there. Foggy tries to reach back and fumble her bra open one-handed, and it’s not a very delicate operation, but she eventually manages to yank the clasp apart and let the straps slide down and off her arms. Maddie immediately moves her mouth, kissing and nipping all over Foggy’s breasts, leaving marks that Foggy knows will last for days. She’s soaking wet now, her panties clinging to her skin, and she gasps “Maddie, Maddie- give me a second.”

Maddie pulls back, one eyebrow raised, and Foggy sits up, pulling her shirt and bra off properly and popping the button on her jeans, shimmying until they’re down to her knees and then kicking them off the rest of the way. Maddie’s better off than she is- her tank top’s already gone, so she’s just in her bra and sweatpants, and it takes no time at all for her to pull the bra off over her head and then she’s naked to the waist and her nipples are hard and pebbled in the cool air of the apartment, and Foggy momentarily blanks out because there’s a million things she wants to do and she can’t decide which one to try first.

“Here,” Maddie says, grabbing one of Foggy’s hands and pulling it to her breast. Foggy takes the encouragement, squeezing and feeling Maddie’s nipple rub against the rough skin of her palm. Maddie’s eyelids flutter, her head falling back, and Foggy ducks down to kiss her again, tongue slipping past her lips, inhaling her like she’s drowning and Maddie is her only source of air. Maddie’s hips are still shifting restlessly under Foggy, and she takes her free hand, dragging it down Maddie’s stomach until she’s dipping her fingers past the waistband of Maddie’s sweatpants and underwear, feeling the slippery wetness underneath. Maddie’s shifting hips start to jerk erratically as Foggy’s fingers slide against her, fingertip brushing her clit. Her face floods pink at that, and she arches her back, whispering “oh, oh, _oh_ ,” like she’s inches away from coming right now. Foggy doesn’t want that- she wants to make Maddie come, wants to watch her face, but not just yet, not right now. So she slide her fingers back down, crooks two up and inside Maddie, who whines and bucks against her. Her hands, which had been running all over Foggy, kneading her breasts, flatten against Foggy’s shoulder as she pushes herself up over and over again. Foggy starts to slide her fingers in and out, moving in time to Maddie’s hips as Maddie lets out little gasps. She sounds like Foggy’s memory of that one night in the dorms, only not really, because she’s _here_ and Foggy can hear her close up and she knows just what she’s doing to pull those noises out of her, and the thought is making her throb between her legs. She’d be touching herself right now, but she’s too intent on Maddie, her whole world narrowed to the feeling of skin on soft, wet skin and Maddie’s low whine and the way she smells- like sex and love and benediction.

“More,” Maddie gasps, and Foggy looks up. “More- more fingers. Please.”

“For real?” Foggy asks, but Maddie’s grinding impatiently down against her hand, so she adds a third finger as requested. Maddie humps up against the heel of her palm, and Foggy’s not even really pulling her fingers in and out anymore so much as moving them incremental inches, curled upwards to reach a spot that’s making Maddie’s thighs twitch. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth, hair spread out around her like a dark halo, and when she comes she makes a hoarse noise like a bird’s call, like a greeting and goodbye and warning all in one. Foggy keeps her fingers moving, working Maddie through it until she finally slumps back onto the bed, limp and loose.

Foggy rolls over onto her side, slinging one arm across Maddie’s waist and nuzzling her nose against her neck, breathing her in. The ends of Maddie’s hair tickle her face, and she wants to burrow against her until there’s no air between them at all, until she’s holding Maddie too tightly to ever let her go. Of course, she also feels wet and heavy between her legs, arousal curling across her skin like ink. Maddie rolls over onto her side and starts to kiss Foggy’s neck, light pecks turning to longer, lingering kisses that leave wet marks in their wake. She shimmies down the bed, dragging her hands down Foggy’s body as she goes, until she’s nearly slipping off the edge, Foggy’s legs on either side of her shoulders, sucking bruises into Foggy’s inner thigh. Foggy groans, letting her head flop back and then lifting it again so she doesn’t miss the view: Maddie, hair falling in her eyes, mouth red and wet and open as she makes her way back up, until she closes her lips around Foggy’s clit and sucks. Foggy digs her fingers into the duvet cover, trying not to yell as Maddie grazes her teeth against her, licking broad, deep stripes up her slit. She’s eating Foggy out like she’s starving and Foggy is a banquet in front of her, like this is the only thing between her and the abyss, every part of her intent on the task at hand. It makes Foggy feel- she can’t describe it, even to herself, because Maddie’s attention is entirely on her, tongue dragging roughly against the most sensitive spots on her skin, focused like she’s the only thing in the room. Foggy’s thighs clamp around Maddie’s head, holding her in place, and she feels Maddie chuckle slightly, the vibrations shaking through her like a shock wave.  When the tension in her stomach finally uncurls, heat rushing through her limbs, she lets go and shouts, grabbing Maddie’s hair and chanting “Maddie, Maddie, oh god, oh Christ-” and she doesn’t even know who or what she’s praying to.

When the aftershocks are over and she can breathe properly again, she turns her head to the side. Maddie’s crawled back up the bed, and her head is next to Foggy’s on the pillow, a soft smile curling across her mouth. Foggy kisses her, and she tastes like- well, she tastes like Foggy. She hadn’t expected that somehow, that she’d have a lingering effect. Maddie wraps an arm across Foggy, pulling her close, and puts her forehead against Foggy’s collarbone. They lie there, nestled together, as the fog of sex slowly lifts and the soft sounds of traffic and voices outside begin to penetrate.

“When did it start?” Foggy whispers, combing her fingers through Maddie’s sweat-damp hair. “When did you- start to feel like I did? How long?”

“I don’t know,” Maddie says, muffled by Foggy’s neck. “Law school, maybe? It was always just sort of . . . there. Normal. I never thought about feeling any other way.”

Foggy huffs a short laugh. “We wasted ten years.”

“We kind of did,” Maddie agrees, pressing her nose to Foggy’s neck and inhaling. “It’s going to be different, now.”

“Not really.” Foggy shrugs slightly, careful not to dislodge Maddie from her spot. “We were awesome lawyers, and now we’re going to be awesome lawyers who have sex. No big.” She hears Maddie giggle lightly, breath ghosting across her skin. She pauses. “We should tell Karen, though. About us.”

Maddie nods.

“And about the other thing. Your thing.”

Maddie lifts her head. “Foggy-”

“No,” Foggy says. “I’m serious, that’s not fair. You shouldn’t even have lied to me about it- and don’t think I’m not still upset about that, by the way- but now I know, which means she’s the only one in the office who doesn’t. Lying isn’t going to keep her any safer than she would be if she knew the truth, and she deserves to be told. You know she does, Maddie.”

Maddie stays silent.

“So that’s settled,” Foggy says into the empty air. “We’re going to tell her. Tomorrow, or- whenever it is you’re going back to the office.”

“I’ve been back all week,” Maddie says. “Does this mean you’re coming back too?”

Foggy huffs. “I guess I am, since you basically seduced me. I should file a sexual harassment suit.”

“Technically speaking,” Maddie says, “you started it.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, smiling up at the ceiling. “I guess I kind of did.”

* * *

 

When they arrive together at the office the next day- Foggy still in the clothes she wore to Maddie’s apartment the day before- Karen squeaks, then flies out of her chair to hug her. “You’re back!”

“I’m back,” she agrees, giving Karen a hug in return before breaking away. “And, um. There’s some stuff I- we- should tell you.”

“Uh-huh,” Maddie adds, barely audible. Foggy can tell she’s staring at the floor through her glasses.

Karen looks between them, a curious expression being slowly displaced by a smile. “Did you- I mean- well, what’s up?”

Foggy gives Maddie a hard poke in the ribs.

Maddie takes a deep breath “Well . . .”

She takes it pretty well, all things considered.

(All things considered, everything’s turned out okay.)

**Author's Note:**

> "Res ipsa loquitur" is Latin for "the thing speaks for itself-" in legal terms, "well, duh." Specifically, it implies that an act (usually an accident or injury) occurred "by an agency or instrumentality within the exclusive control of the defendant" and that it could not have occurred without the actions of the defendant. Maddie's not exactly using it in the way it was intended, but I don't think any judge will mind. ;)


End file.
